


Perhaps It Means Something (A Little Bit More)

by Jaylee



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: K/S Advent Calendar, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaylee/pseuds/Jaylee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"... It wasn’t like facing death, it was just chess with Spock. That didn’t, as a general rule, usually end in fatalities."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perhaps It Means Something (A Little Bit More)

Jim wasn’t sure how he’d be able to look Spock in the eyes ever again. The word ‘no’, _nonononono_ stampeding through his brain like a herd of buffalo.

He didn’t know how to react, the air around him thick with shock, the rejection slowly sinking in, making him feel numb. And his inner voice - the traitorous bastard - kept rambling things, terrible things, mean things:  _‘all those signs I was reading that my attraction was returned must have been my imagination’, ‘stupid, Jim, so stupid,’_ and, more self-deprecating then all of the rest... _‘so, this is why there are anti-fraternization guidelines, because working with Spock, day in and day out, from here on out is going to be so very awkward’_.

He felt sick, his stomach a gurgling mess; bile threatening to rise if he didn’t get out of there soon. He felt his body tremble. He clinched his fists to try and squelch it, desperately trying to hang on to what little pride he had left.

He couldn’t show Spock how hurt he was in the wake of Spock’s refusal, he couldn’t, it would be tantamount of baring his belly to Delta Vega snow beasts.

It had taken him months of indecisiveness, despite his reputation for unending boldness, to ask Spock if he would like to spend shore leave with him, to consider, just perhaps, _‘taking their relationship to the next level’_. The fact that said shore leave would also fall on the holidays, and Jim, never really having much in the way of family, and eager to fully embrace the custom of sharing them with someone he loved, had only bolstered his resolve.

Stupid, so stupid.

Boldness could very much, on occasion (just on occasion, mind), be so highly overrated.

He focused on the point above Spock’s shoulder; unable to meet the brown eyes Jim had, throughout their previous two years of working together, developed a particular talent for reading. When Spock was angry, Jim knew it. Frustrated, happy, excited, all feelings Spock diligently repressed in any other form of expression, like body language, Jim could always read it easily, shining brightly from his friend’s almost human eyes.

He didn’t particularly want to see what was in Spock’s eyes now. Finding disgust would be intolerable. Pity even more so. And while the part of him that wasn’t an aching pile of hurt recognized that Spock wouldn’t set out to revel in Jim’s pain. His friend wasn’t malicious by nature, and Jim didn’t think he could stomach it, reading within Spock’s eyes just why it was that the Vulcan found his Captain okay as a friend, but completely undesirable as a romantic partner.

Yeah. Screw that. He may do really risky, adrenaline rushing things whenever his position as Captain called for it (okay, okay, so he’d, perhaps do some of these things even if he wasn’t Captain) but he wasn’t a _masochist_.

Spock didn’t want him.

Despite the fact that they spent all their off-duty hours together. Despite the fact that they shared hobbies, such as chess and sarcasm. Despite the fact that Spock hadn’t dated anyone since Uhura, and that had ended before their five year mission had even began. And despite the fact that Spock was one of two people that Jim could be alone in a room with for hours on end where the occasional silence had never been awkward... until now.

“Well, okay, then. Thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask. You’re not interested, no big deal. I, uh, better go,” Jim said, more to break the oppressive silence than to add anything of value to the situation, not even fully aware of what it was he was mumbling, just desperate, _so_ desperate, to get the hell out of there to lick his wounds in private.

He turned to leave a little too fast and he experienced a split second of vertigo, but like an insignificant little thing like _that_ would stop him.

And while Spock’s softly spoken “Jim”, did give him a split second of pause, he didn’t let it deter him from operation ‘get the hell out of Spock’s quarters’ and as far away from him as remotely possible on a ship that seemed suddenly, remarkably _small_ ’.

If pity read within the eyes was bad, then _words_ to go with it would be like twisting the knife already lodged in his heart.

*****

Being rejected hurt. That was a no brainer. Jim couldn’t think of a species he’d encountered yet that _enjoyed_ that type of thing. But dealing with the aftermath of it was almost more awkward and painful than the initial blow itself.

He was, 100%, avoiding Spock outside of duty, there was just no way to sugarcoat it. Instead of eating in the mess and socializing for breakfast, the way he’d done in the past, he’d taken to grabbing a coffee and a bagel from the replicator in his quarters and using the time to answer messages.

His inbox had never been so clean. In the eternal pros and cons check columns of life he could now add one measly pro to balance out the 999 cons he’d just added. Yippy.

Lunch, of course, was for sissies. But if one must take one because their CMO happened to be an exceedingly annoying but lovable busybody who nagged relentlessly (and skillfully), if one skipped a meal, regardless of their state of broken heart, then wandering around the ship needlessly under the guise of ‘midday exercise’ worked exceedingly well to keep the good Doctor off his back.

As for the evenings, pounding the treadmill at the highest speed, and until he reached the point where he felt like he could vomit, was exceedingly therapeutic. And sandwiches (four - one for him, three for Scotty) could always be grabbed on the way to Engineering to do something useful, like engage in the mutual petting and preening of the Enterprise that Jim and his Chief Engineer liked to do as a bonding activity.

After all, the Enterprise was a beautiful ship. Best in the galaxy, in fact. He dared anyone to say otherwise to his face. To gush over her was... logical.

And if this mutual preening and petting had increased in frequency lately, and on the nights when Jim and Spock had used to spend together, pre-D day (D for the crippling _Death_ of Jim’s hopes) well, it couldn’t be helped.

Was it cowardly? Undoubtedly. Jim cringed every time he dodged into a doorway or ducked into a room whenever he saw Spock coming. Hated himself a little more when he realized that these actions pretty much made him a horrible friend. The friendship he had promised Spock, had pursued relentlessly when they had first started on their mission, certain in the aftermath of their success with the Narada situation that he and Spock, together, could pull off the impossible, should not be contingent on Jim growing to want... more than friendship. In his mind, he knew that. Sure.

His heart, though, was stuck in self-defense mode. Spock didn’t want him, Spock had made said organ metaphorically _bleed_ , and therefore Spock should be avoided.

Of course it would be nice if he could overcome his disappointment, and he and Spock could carry on as they had before, but in that particular flight of fancy he had his doubts. Physical wounds were infinitely easier to recover from than psychological ones had ever been.

He knew _that_ going into this whole mess. Office romances? _Never_ a good idea. Actively seeking one out? Less so.

And wasn’t that just the crux of it? With all of his suddenly abundant free time, especially while on the bridge, as he was now, studiously avoiding Vulcan gazes, Jim had done little but wonder why he’d been so idiotic as to risk everything to put it all out there to begin with, especially with previous experience in allowing his heart to be vulnerable to the regard of others.

He _should_ have known better.

But Spock was, well, _Spock_. There wasn’t anyone Spockier than Spock.

Just looking at him sometimes made Jim’s heart _squeeze_.

And even though they had only known each other a little over two years, and even though they hadn’t exactly started off on the right foot, to Jim it felt like they had known each other _forever_.

There were days when Jim saw Spock as a brother, when they affectionately quarreled over logic (and Jim’s apparent lack thereof) or ribbed each other because being a smartass was _fun_ and it was rare to find another soul who recognized it as the intricate art form it was, the way Spock did. Other times when Spock felt like the quintessential best friend, the guy Jim could be himself around, the guy who didn’t need smokescreens or mirrors because he understood what made Jim tick, and when he didn’t he at least _tried_ to. Other times Spock made Jim want him with an almost desperate ache. Spock and his shiny hair, and his expressive eyes, and a deep, repressed passion Jim had only seen glimpses of and would _love_ to see full throttle (and damn the man for possessing such desirable attributes).

Which wasn’t going to happen. And until that thought didn’t cause piercing pain like a needle in the eye, cowardly avoidance would have to do. He could live with that. Would have to.

… And while he was grappling with how to do that he’d also think of a good excuse to avoid Thursday Night, Chess Night. The other nights of the week Jim and Spock had once spent together (i.e. every night, because, Jim had thought, at least, had thought he’d thought, that they were just _that_ into each other) were unofficial. But Thursday, today, was Kirk and Spock Day, a tradition at the beginning of their mission that they had both held sacred ever since. Well, at least Jim had held sacred, he was beginning to doubt if these countless nights had any sort of impact on Spock whatsoever.

A sudden and deliberate cough, drew Jim out of his reverie, and he looked up from his chair on the bridge to catch Spock walking towards him, his eyes, the ones Jim had been avoiding at all costs, hesitant, worried and... sad?

He must be imagining things. What right did _Spock_ have to be the sad one? Jim called that emotion, damnit! He’d _earned_ it!

“Are you free for chess tonight, still, Captain?” Spock asked, voice soft.

And just like that, with that simply, humble, whispered inquiry, Jim felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. Again.

If Spock had had any touch of pity in his eyes, had shown any sign of _‘look, you did something foolish last week, silly human, but let’s do the guy thing and pretend it never happened, shall we?’_ Jim would have had a much easier time thinking up his quickest excuse out of it and thinking it up quick. But Spock, in that quiet, subtle way that even now, after everything, Jim could read read like a book. He was expecting to be rejected, and had shown an extraordinary amount of courage in approaching Jim, on the bridge, in front of an audience, knowing full well he’d probably be turned down, especially given his Captain’s recent behavior.

Despite what his recent actions might attest, Jim had always admired courage. And he couldn’t bear to be the cause of Spock’s sadness, even at the risk of his own. That was just how much of a sucker he was.

So he said, before allowing himself to regret it...

“Sure.”

Being an adult and cognizant of others sometimes really sucked.

*****

It wasn’t like facing death, it was just chess with Spock. That didn’t, as a general rule, usually end in fatalities. So why then did facing death, which Jim had done numerous times, both as Captain of the Enterprise and the years before it, seem almost like the preferable option?

Walking to Spock’s quarters was a quiet torture. Mere seconds, not even five full steps from the door of his own quarters, which somehow felt like the longest span of time he’d ever lived.

It had never been hard to know what to say around Spock. Since getting to know one another Jim had never felt censored, nor obligated to act a certain way, at least when they were alone, just the two of them. Now he didn’t know what to expect, how to act, what to say.

Should he act like it all never happened? That would be the easiest way, certainly, if not very true to oneself. Jim didn’t know if he could be around Spock without wondering both ‘what if’ and resenting him a little for breaking Jim’s heart, for not deeming Jim good enough.

Or he could bring it up, and face more rejection, perhaps even in the form of platitude, which ranked right up there with reconstruction surgery in sickbay after a particularly disastrous mission, though the reconstructive surgery possibly had the edge there.

One thing was certain, Jim was going to beat the hell out of Spock at chess tonight because his very life (i.e. pride) demanded it! It might be a little thing to hang onto, perhaps even petty, but, as Spock liked to point out, Jim was only human, and Spock could suck it up.

He wouldn’t apologize for being himself.

So with that resolved he walked into Spock’s quarters, marveling briefly that the surroundings which had once been so familiar to him could _feel_ so different in the wake of all that had happened between them. Spock stood in the middle of the room, eyeing Jim, assessing him, his posture tense.

“I wasn’t sure you would come,” Spock said at last, breaking a tension so awkward that that time Jim had been recruited by Pike into Starfleet, drunk off his ass and nursing the bruises left on him by a gang of ugly brutes look like a nice, pleasant Sunday dinner at the neighbors; the kind that came with pie and inane conversation (Jim firmly believed that any type of conversation was worth it for pie).

And just like that, with that single, sad little proclamation from Spock, Jim went from feeling bolstered - mentally blaming Spock for all his pain, Tribbles, Klingons, the Eugenic Wars, orphaned kittens, early mornings and the weird design of the platypus (who were now extinct, also Spock’s fault) - to feeling like a Class-A asshole.

It was beyond annoying that Spock could get to him like that. It was more annoying that Spock didn’t know just how deeply Jim’s regard ran... he hadn’t been able to get that far into professing his undying love, the week prior, while Spock had been busy ripping out his heart.

Moot point now, regardless. And it didn’t change the fact that Jim now felt a little guilty.

“I’m sorry,” Jim replied, cringing because didn’t he, not five minutes ago, decide that he wasn’t going to apologize for how he felt? Yet since this conversation was already starting off in a way that was spectacularly bad, and his mouth seemed to deem tonight the night to speak entirely independent from his brain, damn the thing, might as well go full disclosure. After all, it wasn’t like he could make things _worse_. “After last week I was a bit crushed, Spock. It, uh, wasn’t a good time for me.”

Which had to have been, single-handedly the most obvious thing he had ever said _ever_. And he might have cringed over it, if he wasn’t too busy embarrassing himself further...

 “You might have guessed that I don’t make a habit of really opening up to people, much easier not to be disappointed that way, I guess, and I was really thinking that you might, you know, be the exception to that.”

Which wasn’t meant to be a guilt trip exactly, well, maybe just a _little_ of a guilt trip, it was only fair to share, but honestly, when it came down to it, Jim wasn’t really that much better than Spock when it came to overly emotional heart-to-hearts. In fact, when it came to talking about feelings, Jim strongly felt the Vulcans had the right idea. They were illogical. Completely illogical. Thus he felt he could be forgiven for his awkwardness...

“Which I realize is all on me, and you shouldn’t be accountable for my own crushed expectations. It just seemed like we had this amazing connection, and I had this, perhaps idiotic, idea of us as old men together, frolicking across the galaxy, playing chess and grumping about the good ole’ days and how we did things when we ran a starship.”

Which came out sounding not in the least bit creepy, and Jim _did_ take the time to wince after that one. When this whole mortifying conversation was over he was going straight to sickbay and have Bones sew his mouth shut. Yet he continued nonetheless; too late to stop now...

“There was this point, not too long ago, when I realized that every thought of the future you were always there, somehow, which is saying something as I had always been convinced, before I met you, that I would die alone. Anyway, you don’t want us to be together, and I accept that but I just need time to, you know, deal with the disappointment.”

If such a thing were possible, which Jim _still_ had his doubts about. He didn’t love easily. He didn’t trust that easily. He could count on one hand the number of people he’d met in his life who created an irreversible impact.

So no, he wouldn’t be able to ‘get over’ Spock. But perhaps, with time, the intensity of his emotions: pain, love, disappointment, and shame would dull a little, making something resembling the previous status of their friendship possible. Maybe.

For his part Spock just looked confused. Well, he looked constipated, which meant he was confused, which wasn’t _exactly_ the feeling Jim was hoping to inspire with his emotional outpouring of honesty.

And this was why full disclosure always, _always_ sucked.

“You had asked me, one week prior, if I would like to take shore leave with you, to, I quote ‘give in to the attraction’ you had developed. Nowhere in that request did you make any indication of a long term relationship,” Spock asked, his dark eyes pained.

Now Jim was the constipated one.

“Uh, Spock, this is you and me we’re talking about here. Remember me? Jim? The one who actually gets it when you’re being funny? The one who you trounce at chess, and actually comes back for more? Doesn’t that last part, the long-term thing, go without saying when it’s _us_?”

He gestured wildly between them, equally out of the need to do something with his hands as it was for emphasis. It was the better alternative, if he wasn’t using them to gesture, he’d be using them to pull out his hair.

It DID go without saying, didn’t it? Did Spock think that Jim had been simply propositioning him? Did he really think Jim _that_ shallow? Sure he had had that reputation at the Academy, and part of it was even, possibly, earned, though certainly not _all_. But since becoming Captain, and unless he needed to turn on the charm to get himself or his crew, mostly both, out of a fix, he had kept his libido under stringent control. Priorities, he had them. His job was important to him, so was his crew, and his friends most of all, he wasn’t going to go jeopardizing any of that that willy nilly. Didn’t Spock know that much about him, at least? Jim had asked Spock out because somewhere between the Kobayashi Maru and Thursday Night, Chess Night he had come to discover that he had wanted Spock _more_ than the rest of it.

Jim wasn’t sure whether to be hurt, or hopeful by this new turn of events. The hopeful, though, was far, _far_ more enticing.

Was it possible that cool and collected Spock, with his astounding intelligence and his obsessive-compulsive love of logic, could be... insecure?

“You thought I was just inviting you out for sex? I would never, ever do that to _you_ , Spock! You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, anyone who would be stupid enough to settle for half of you when they could have the whole deal would be so illogical they’d make _me_ question their sanity. And, as you know, I eat illogical for breakfast.”

Which wasn’t, perhaps, the most romantic of declarations, but Jim thought he could be excused when he still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that this whole past week of _hell_ could be chalked-up to a massive communication failure.

It was as if fate hated him.

“Jim,” Spock said, his voice deeper, his gaze intense and locked on Jim, “are you indicating that you mean to enter into a long-term relationship with me, exclusively? Be certain, it is important.”

That, at least, was a question he could answer without _any_ hesitation.

“Spock, if I wasn't certain of my feelings I would have never risked myself like that. I’ve gone this entire week thinking you didn’t want me, you bastard. It really fucking _hurt_.”

Jim wasn’t exactly certain what response he was expecting of Spock. An outpouring of poetic love declarations would be expecting a bit much considering the love of his life was, in fact, the Spockiest of all Spocks. Spock didn’t do outpourings. Of _anything._ And if Spock were to start engaging in such behavior it would, quite frankly, freak Jim out.

What Spock did do was move like lightening, grab both of Jim’s upper arms in a tight grip, and kiss him with all the strength of a half Vulcan with three times his strength, with an underlying gentle soul

Spock’s lips against his: firm, unyielding, yet smooth and amazing, made the horrors of the past week recede into a corner of Jim’s mind reserved for the things Jim willfully repressed.

It was a big corner.

“Just to be clear,” Jim said later, through bruised lips and ragged breath, while Spock cradled Jim’s head in his hands. “We’re both idiots. Me for not being more clear, and you for thinking I’d _ever_ use you for no strings sex.”

“Duly noted, Captain,” Spock replied, amusement evident in his voice.

“Good, I’m glad we got that matter cleared up,” he said, trying - and failing - to hide his own amusement. “So about that shore leave...”

*****

December holidays were a bit of an antiquated practice in the 23rd century. The religious connotations for which the holidays had stemmed were no longer widely practiced on Earth. Most people celebrated the holidays because they were tradition, and the spirit behind them, showing friends and family they were loved, and appreciated, still held its charm.

It wasn’t a paid holiday.

Starfleet felt, and rightfully so, Jim thought, that if they allowed time off for every holiday, of every species within the Federation, there would be no official work days _left_. Human holidays were not allowed to be an exception just because the bulk of Starfleet was comprised of humans and Earth was one of the founding members of the Federation. Thus all officers were granted a handful of ‘free days’ annually to use as each individual saw fit. On a starship in active duty that meant a crew could use them for shore leave, as long as it wouldn’t interfere with a mission and at the Captain’s discretion.

Jim did not, under any circumstances - thank you very much -  purposely schedule his first shore leave with Spock as a couple during Christmas. Yes Christmas held a bit of a profound novelty for him because he’d grown up watching _other_ kids enjoy all the hustle and bustle of the traditional Christmas rituals, while he had often spent his alone. But he’d swear up and down that the timing was pure coincidence.

It only _felt_ as if it had been planned... because it was so perfect.

He woke up early Christmas morning, before Spock, amazingly, propped his head up on the palm of his hand to watch as Spock’s chest rose and fell with his breathing, marveling all the while, because he _still_ couldn’t quite believe it, that Spock was here next to him. Better yet, Spock was delightfully _naked_ next to him, covered only by a thin cotton sheet spotted with the drying evidence of the previous night’s activities.

The sight of the spots, and the tell-tale soreness in Jim’s ass, gave him a renewed euphoria. As well as ideas for a repeat engagement.

He could do that, now, if he wanted. Reach out and touch Spock without concern to Vulcan cultural taboos. And more importantly without being afraid of how Spock would take it.

Amazing.

So maybe fate didn’t hate him, after all. To have given him this...

It wasn’t quite daybreak, just yet, and already it was the best Christmas Jim had ever had.

The End!


End file.
